In case anyone was wondering, no, I am not on vacation. Unless your idea of a great holiday is flying to Utah with a 7-month old on your lap, landing and driving 40 minutes to the hotel, at which time you meet up with your 4 yr old, who just rode 12+ hours in the car with grandpa and 3 Ridgebacks, and is as wired as somebody who just mainlined five pounds of sugar mixed with crack. And this is just the first few hours.

But it gets better. Then, you are lucky enough to share a hotel room with your parents, your two kids, and three hound dogs, one of which is about as quiet as a building-full of screaming toddlers. And for the next three days, you get to rise and shine at the blink of dawn, all to take said hound dogs, not to mention the other three dogs in your aunt’s room across the hall, to a dog event known as lure coursing. Sound fancy? Well, basically, it’s three dogs chasing a piece of white plastic bag all over a few acres of dirt. All the while, you’re trying to balance both kids naps, keep dry from the random rainstorms that blow through, and not absorb all of the dirt in the state of Utah into your pores. And of course, you happen to have the only naughty hounds that don’t come when the race is over, so you have to chase them all over creation just to get them off the field.

And that was just the first three days.

I’m thinking they’re not going to booking this as a 5-star get-away anytime soon.

All the while, hubby is lounging away at home, blissfully soaking up the silence (well, except for his night-growling Rottweiler), hitting golf balls, and drinking beer. And befouling my blog.